The Part We Don't Want To Forget
by SirCat
Summary: Rachel and Puck's junior prom is full of everything from vomit-worthy punch to John Mayer slow dances. Mentions of Artie/Brittany and Matt/Quinn. Rachel's POV.


**A/N: **Beware of a brief conversation between Rachel and Puck near the end of the chapter... It's very dirty. :P PLEASE REVIEW!

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Rachel muttered as she gulped down a large swallow of punch. It was an awful cherry punch, which sickly tasted like the kind of medicine she'd have to take when she was little and had ear infections-- luckily the texture was thinner and not the nauseating thick pink liquid which stuck in her throat as it went down, but that was a small comfort as Rachel nearly choked the disgusting beverage back up. Using all the self-restraint she could master she kept it down, but gagged into a napkin Noah held out for her.

"That," she moaned, "was _revolting_."

"You weren't here last year when there was all the good stuff—Tommy Robinson managed to sneak a whole flank of vodka in the punch when the idiot chaperones weren't looking, and everyone was totally juiced. _That_ was a real party." He saw resentment in Rachel's face and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Sometimes I question your sanity, Noah."

"Why, what's wrong with a little booze?" Rachel just shook her head and sighed.

"I'm glad they at least put up video cameras by the food table now," she told him, glancing at the shiny black objects as they hovered, menacing, daring it's recipients to break a rule in front of them.

"That's because of Robinson," Noah informed her, grinning. "Had to enforce them when they figured out what was going on. Erica Sullivan, the sweetest math nerd in the history of McKinely, stripped down and was dancing on the stage, that's what gave it away. It's a shame," he added with a sigh. "Best prom ever."

"Do you _want_ me to ditch you and go find Quinn?" Rachel asked. "Because I could if you continue to be so vulgar." But she was grinning, and Noah grinned back as he swung one arm around her shoulders, and she slipped hers around his waist. They watched Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury perform a swing dance, dipping and twirling and spinning every which way so that even Rachel got dizzy. She was yet to convince Noah to learn how to swing dance, or dance, at all. He refused to go beyond his expertise at the moon walk, and nothing was going to make him budge. Yet.

Then a fast song hit the speakers, Bad Romance by Thou-Who-Shalt-Not-Be-Named. Rachel tightened up as the excuse for 'music' pumped furiously in her ears, and Noah gave her arm a squeeze. "Three deep breaths, babe. Three deep breaths." Rachel did as she was told, inhaling deeply then letting out a long sigh as she exhaled, glancing to make sure her tummy didn't bulge. It didn't; the dress she and Quinn had bought was perfect.

The dress was a light, piercing blue, contrasting beautifully with her olive skin. The skirt was thin and the texture a soft silk, the hem barely brushing the floor. The neckline was deep and v-shaped, conspicuously making Noah's eyes pop when he picked her up. The back dipped low to the small of her back, halfway down her torso and gave Rachel an intense desire to practice her red carpet walk. There was no decor to her dress, except for a small bunch of fabric at the right corner of her waist, which Quinn claimed 'made a pop'.

Rachel refused to parade around the night in five inch Stiletto heels like her best friend suggested, and instead had settled in two inch high silver sandals, which had binding straps that pinched her feet terribly and made her make pained faces when she walked. Noah, understanding boyfriend that he was, settled for standing in the corner with her for the whole of the evening.

As the horrific, blundering, song continued, Noah began to play with Rachel's hair. Quinn and Kurt had worked together on that one, scrubbing down with products and curling and squirting with no-frizz spray until Rachel couldn't feel her head anymore. The finished product, however, was dazzling. Cascades of dark, luscious curls fell around Rachel's bare shoulders, warming her skin as they were still heated from the curler ran through her hair time and again, sparingly as not to make a curly-cue mess of her hair, and instead creating a masterpiece.

Tina said the two should go into business together, and Rachel, Brittany, Santana, and Mercedes whole-heartedly agreed. Quinn and Kurt hadn't gotten the malicious gleam out of their eyes all evening.

As Noah fingered the curls, which smelled like raspberries due to Brittany's kind offering of a better smelling shampoo than Rachel's scentless conditioner, running his hands through the tangle-less mass, she scanned the rest of the room. Across the gym she spotted Quinn arm in arm with Matt, talking excitedly to Kurt, with Finn on his arm. The two seemed quite engaged in their conversation, whereas Matt had a can't-wait-to-get-out-of-here look, as did Finn. Rachel smiled, thinking fondly of Quinn's new found relationship with Glee club's star dancer (along with Mike, of course. The two were pop and locking every time the Glee club met; they were getting better each time, and neither were even taking classes. Natural talent, like her).

Brittany was sitting on Artie's lap near by, feeding him cherries from the fruit platter. The twos' hookup last December at the New Years eve party had been unexpected, but somehow was turning out great—the two clicked perfectly, completely in synch all the time, and when dating a dumb blonde like Brittany, that had to be pretty difficult.

Tina, Mercedes, Santana, and Mike could be seen making a hit on the dance floor; the four dominated the middle of the space with their moves. Especially Mike, who had somehow just done the splits just as Thou-Who-Shalt-Not-Be-Named belted out 'I want your bad romance!' in his two hundred dollar tuxedo without tearing a thread.

Rachel rest her head on Noah's shoulder, wishing that there was something else to drink to clear the bitter aftertaste of the medicine-like punch in her throat. Imagining the clear, fresh taste of the drinking fountain just outside the gym made her dizzy with longing, so she enlaced her hand with Noah's and began dragging him towards the doors. "Where are we going?" he asked her as Rachel clenched her teeth at the tightness of her shoe straps.

"Water," she informed him, stepping quickly and silently swearing in her head each time a harness cut into her flesh. "I need to rehydrate after that punch; my esophagus may be burned."

"You should lodge a complaint." She grimaced at him.

"I should. There's probably a toxin hidden in the ingredients; I could sue the company as well as the school for housing such poison."

"There you go." They reached the water fountain, and Rachel took a long chug before standing back up.

"Is my lipstick okay?" she asked him. Noah raised his eyebrows.

"I think that's the first time Rachel Berry has ever asked me if her _lipstick_ is okay. Did Quinn take over your body, or something like in The Body Snatchers?" She rolled her eyes.

"_No_, and I think it's time we widen your appeal of action and/or horror movies and science fiction films to a more mature variety, including romantic classics and musicals." It was Noah's turn to roll his eyes.

"Babe, we've been going over this for a year: The time when I watch a romance and/or musical with you is the time when either The OC wins a Grammy or the sky rains frogs—_never__._"

"But I watched Star Trek with you—" she started, but Noah cut her off.

"Which you loved, so it was worth while. But I'm just never watching a musical, and loving it. Like I said, The OC will win a Grammy. Or frogs will be raining."

"You know, it could be possible for the to rain frogs—you know, if somebody got a big bucket of them on an airplane then dumped 'em all out..." Noah wrapped his arms around her waist, and she responded to doing the same with his neck, pulling him close so their foreheads touched, and she trailed off.

"You are the most ridiculous person I've ever met," he told her, reaching up to tap her gently on the nose.

"And the most talented," she added. "You haven't dated a girl who has vocals supreme to mine."

"No," he agreed. "I haven't." Noah kissed her then, keeping a hold on her face between his hands, and Rachel loved how his thumbs rubbed her cheeks. As he kissed her he sort of began swaying with her, returning his hands to her waist. She stood up on her tippy-toes, caressing her own fingers on the skin right where his mohawk, the spot that she had learned, over time, was his all-time favorite. She felt his hands on her skin and she leaned into him as his cool hands shifted to rest on her exposed back. She automatically retracted at the touch, but then his palms lay there flat and Rachel relaxed into them.

After forever, their lips parted and she beamed at him. "Are we dancing?" she asked, glancing down at their swaying bodies. They could practically be one, judging by how close they were. Rachel could feel his 'meat popsicle' (the newest nickname for penis she had learned, and she loved to say it in front of Noah, which always lead to the removal of clothing and lots of making out, and if no one else was present at home, some satisfying sex).

"I think we are," he replied. "We don't have to swing, do we?"

"No," she said, continuing to smile. Standing on her tip-toes again, Rachel reached up and kissed him softly at the corner of his lips. "This is better."

They continued to sway back and forth, not speaking and instead silently enjoying their cheesy high school moment. After a good ten minutes of it, Rachel graciously slunk out of his hold and backed up so her back was pressed against the cold metal of a locker, keeping his hand linked with hers. She grinned at him as he followed her lead, and their foreheads nudged each other for a second time.

"You do know that the _real_ make out doesn't come until _after_ the prom, right?" Rachel shrugged at him, grinning. They were getting so close again, so near so that when Rachel replied to his comment their lips brushed as she spoke.

"I'm not very much of a traditionalist though, am I?"

Kissing Noah, Rachel decided, was like kissing some sort of rock star. The way everything went silent when his lips touched hers made her think of lead band singers embracing their girlfriends after a smashing performance, and for them, after that long period of time where nothing could be heard except blarings of guitars and screams of wild fans, kissing their girls would be something of a silent paradise. When Noah leaned back out, he smirked at her devilishly.

"What?" she asked.

"Your lipstick is smudged. It looks sexy." Rachel made an exasperated 'ugh' noise and shoved his chest.

"Sure," she said, digging around in her wristlet for lipstick and a pocket mirror.

"Hey," he said, taking her hand and pausing her search. "You look beautiful. The smudge looks... rebellious. You don't need to change a thing." Sneaking a peek in the mirror, Rachel sighed and smiled at Noah.

"You're too good of a manipulator," she said, sighing and starting to put away the stick of red and mirror. "For some people!" she finished, quickly pulling her hand back out and turning to run down the hall, somehow managing to cleanly slick on her lipstick and wiping away the smudge with her thumb. Noah caught up with her within seconds, and Rachel giggled avidly as he snatched her up from behind and swung her around so that she was gasping with laughter and begging for mercy. He finally set her down after many requests, and the two grinned at each other as both breaths were caught and the laughing died down. Rachel leaned up, and letting one foot spring up like in those Princess Diaries movies, pecked him on the lips for four short seconds.

When she came back down, Noah smiled and took a strand of hair in her hands. "I feel like a frickin' Edward Cullen for saything this, but babe, your hair smells _awesome_." He took a piece and actually held it up to his nose to smell. "Kurt and Quinn need to go into business right now and make millions of bucks. And make you the face of their company. And then you can go on tours and I can go along and be your boyfriend and every guy in the country will be really jealous 'cuz they totally wanna bang you." Rachel beamed at him.

"I like your thinking."

"I do too." Linking arms, they walked back into the gym, where Rachel was relieved to hear that the non-music had ended and John Mayer's Heartbreak Warfare now drifted over the gym like a lullaby. Quinn and Matt could be seen in the couples waving slightly back and forth, much like Rachel and Noah had done previously in the hallway, privately.

Rachel glanced up at Noah. He looked down at her. Rachel made her bottom lip protrude slightly in front of her top, and blinked rapidly as on-demand tears stung her eyes. Noah groaned, stared up at the ceiling, squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a second (even though the lights were dimmed and not blinding at all), then looked down at her again. "You are _so_ gonna be a hit in the biz," he muttered, and she beamed at him, tears gone and cheery brown eyes replacing them.

Twirling her around once before settling into their prior stance of his arms at her back and hers around his neck, they settled into their swaying 'dance' once more. As the song progressed, Rachel's hands fell so they clung to the his upper back, and she settled her cheek against his arm. Closing her eyes, she fell into the comfort of Noah's cheek on her hair and his arms resting at the small of her back.

She felt safe, contained. Usually a free bird like herself wouldn't enjoy such a feeling, but with Noah it was different. She felt secure and sheltered when with him, yet independent and open, able to do whatever she pleased. It was because Noah wanted her to strive and be all that she was; he felt no need to cling onto her, even if letting her loose may mean he will lose her to the world and it's flashing lights and tantalizing offers of Juilliard and Broadway. She knew it wouldn't happen-- or at least, she hoped it wouldn't. She would do all in her power to stop it from happening. But right now, that feeling that he gave her, of simultaneous welcome and freedom, was the best possible gift she could ever ask for.

The song ended, and Rachel opened her eyes slowly. Across the gym Brittany was sitting in Artie's lap, head on his shoulder and arms encasing him in a hug. Their form of dancing had been Artie gently moving the wheelchair back and forth, and Rachel's heart gave a little tug at the overload of cuteness that the image was. Then she looked up at Noah and he planted a kiss to her forehead.

"I love J. Mayer," she murmured, glancing down at her feet then raising her head and grinning happily at him. "His voice is so..."

"Rich?" Noah supplied.

"Yeah, rich. Good word choice, beau."

"I'm just totally smart like that." Another fast song came on, the oh-so-terrible tune known as TiK ToK by Evil-Bitch-Goddess-Sent-From-Hell-By-Satan-Himself. Rachel made a face at Noah, and he nodded his understanding. "Return to the snack table."

When they reached the long table, now looking splattered with crumbs and food messes, they found Quinn, Matt, Brittany, and Artie standing (in Artie and Brittany's case, sitting) by the punch bowl. Quinn was making faces at her cup and Rachel could easily picture her wondering about the horrid poisonous beverage like she had been earlier.

"Hi guys!" Matt exclaimed, and Noah did the 'cool-guy-hand-clasp-one-arm-hug-thing' with him. Quinn rolled her eyes at Rachel, and grinned back. "Where have you been?"

"Probably exercising their birds and bees in the special ed room, where all the pillows are," Santana supplied, scoffing at his stupidity. "It's the meat market of all high school proms." Everyone raised their eyebrows. "What?" she asked at their expressions. "Common adolescent knowledge, people. God, you're all so out of the loop. I don't know how _I'm_ the only one who's in Glee club and still manages to have a social life-- actually, I can very easily figure out why--"

"Santana, _do_ shut up," Quinn told her, irritated.

"I'm just saying-- it's not hard to know all of these things; I'm actually writing a book on it for you de-informed losers. You can preview it on my Facebook _and_ Myspace, which I highly suggest for the well fare of your social status, if it wasn't already so low."

"Like yours isn't," Quinn snapped back. Santana raised her eyebrows, then grinned smugly as if she had just figured out the absolute perfect way to dissect Quinn and rip out her heart from her chest. Which, if she was given the right equipment, she would, probably do.

Still looking at Quinn, her expression pompous, Santana called out in a clear, commanding voice, easily heard over the music for anyone with a fifteen feet radius in any direction, "Hey Carter." A basketball ball player, Carter Blake, who had been walking by, stopped in his tracks and turned to the source.

"Santana Lopez, sexy girl, where have you been?" Grinning a superior, vainglorious grin, Santana flipped her hair and jingled her ice filled plastic cup as she walked away from the gang. Her dress was impossibly short and ruby-red, drawing eyes as she walked in her five-inch gold heels, arm in arm with Carter Blake.

"_So_ sorry I haven't been able to call recently; my second cousin's great-great grandmother's son-in-law passed away last week..." her voice trailed off and the rest of the club just stood there, some angry (Quinn), some confused (Matt), and some making out (Artie and Brittany).

"Honestly, it was like she had never heard of tact!" Quinn exclaimed, slamming her cup down on the table. Matt rubbed her shoulders, calming her.

"If Santana Lopez ever hears of tact, I'd sell my Mod Squad DVDs," Noah announced.

"Same here with my West Side Story exclusive collector's edition signed by Natalie Wood," Rachel added, hugging Noah's arm with both of her own. "I couldn't imagine being parted with it." Soon enough Matt and Noah were engaged in basketball talk, and Quinn took Rachel's hand, leading her to a pair of lone folding chairs at the end of the table. They sat down, Quinn folded her legs tightly underneath her slinky white silk dress, then smiled at Rachel.

"So? Is it everything you dreamed of and more?" she asked.

"Is what everything I've dreamed of and more?"

"You know," Quinn gestured at their surroundings, "this. Prom. Are your 'big girl dance' dreams fulfilled, of a gorgeous expensive dress and a gourmet buffet and a perfect guy and corsages and all that?"

"Oh, I never dilly-dallied about those things when I was a child," Rachel answered, waving her hand in dismay. "I dreamt of much bigger things, like graduating from a prestigious preforming arts college and starring in Broadway musicals and going on world tours. Thoughts of absurd high school right of passage formals hardly crossed my mind, except when watching Footloose." Quinn chuckled.

"I should've known, right? Me, I was always caught up in the whole prom facade. Every year when my sister went, I would get into her hair products and makeup bin to help myself. Then I would design a dress for myself out of newspaper and Crayola crayons. Of course it freaked the hell out of my mom, and I stopped after the first two years. My sister went to prom all four years because during freshman and sophomore she got invited by an older classmate. But then I would draw pictures of myself in dresses, and I would sketch my dream guy too."

"What'd he look like?"

"Tall. Blonde. Muscular. He brought me a five hundred-dollar red rose for my corsage. AKA, he was my favorite of my sister's boyfriends. Colin. He gave me Skittles every time he would come over to pick up my sister." She turned to face Rachel, tugging on one of her toothpick thin straps. "How's your first one turning out then?"

"Number one, the music is a complete calamity. They could pick something that doesn't sound like a high Madonna with music like noises you hear at a car repair shop. Or an insane asylum. Number two, they should start getting their punch from a grocery store instead of the pharmacy--" Quinn snort laughed--"And number three, I am having an amazing time."

"Puck's the perfect gentlemen?" Rachel laughed.

"He's my ying and I'm his yang," was all she said. "You and Matt?"

"Ohh, I'm not sure if yinging and yanging is going on but..." She grinned. "He's a sweetie. I like him a lot." Rachel nodded briskly, signaling her approval.

"Excellent."

There was a moment of silence before Quinn grinned devilishly and gestured back towards the group. "How about Artie and Brittany there? Has she left his lap _at all_ tonight?"

"I imagine her legs are quite sore," Rachel added.

"It's really _weirdly_ adorable, if you ask me," Quinn said, raising her eyebrows. "I didn't know Brittany was one for glasses and suspenders. But then she was never all right in the head."

"Oh, I think she is," Rachel replied, smiling slightly. "I think she knows exactly what she's doing. What's Brittany's dating criteria again? Something about, 'has to know her name?'" Quinn laughed and paused before answering, when a new song came on over the speakers.

"_Heeey, heeeeey, heeeeeey..._"

The corners of Quinn's mouth went up in a little half smile, then got up with a swoosh from her skirt. Rounding on Rachel, she held out her hand. "May I have this dance?" she asked, bowing slightly. Rachel was taken aback.

"Quinn-- there are people here; they'll see and I know how you care about your reputation--"

"Screw my reputation," Quinn announced with a wave of her hand. "At least for tonight. I want a dance with my best friend." Rachel hesitated, then beamed, and took Quinn's hand. Grinning identical grins, they walked onto the dance floor, already moving their hips and sliding into the familiar feeling of free dance.

"_Your lipstick stains, _

_On the front lobe of my left side brains, _

_I knew I wouldn't forget ya, _

_And so I went and let you blow my mind._"

Laughing, Quinn held up Rachel's hand high as she twirled her around, and Rachel performed vice versa. She could feel the straps of her shoes burning, but as the tropical music settled on her heart and in her ears, she couldn't even find time to dwell on her feet.

"_Hey, Soul Sister, ain't that mister mister on the radio, stereo, _

_The way you move ain't fair you know. _

_Hey, Soul Sister, I don't wanna miss a single thing you dooooo... _

_Tonight._"

Moving in sync with Quinn, bumping hips and slapping random high fives, this was free bird Rachel Berry. Every eye was on her and Quinn, and she felt alive. The way she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and the feeling of almost being able to sense blood rushing through her body. Dance flowed out of her as easy as carbon dioxide.

"_I can be myself now finally, _

_In fact there's nothing I can't be, _

_I want the world to see you be, with me._"

People were clapping along with the rhythm now, at least certain groups. Rachel could spot stony jocks and cheerleader looking on coldly, arms crossed and hearts black. But there were math and science geeks, volunteer kids, Thunderclap staff, and they were clapping and laughing and cheering as Rachel and Quinn held up and clasped their hands, swaying back and forth, doing a sort of controlled polka. It reminded Rachel of when she sang Smile with Finn in the choir room last year.

"_Heeey, heeeeey, heeeeeey, _

_Tonight._"

Whooping with exhilarated laughter, Rachel wrapped Quinn in a bear hug before the two exited the floor, met with cries and whistles. They hurried over to Noah and Matt, and Rachel ran into her boyfriend's arms, wrapping him in a tight squeeze. He responded immediately, crushing her body against his and lifted her into the air as she did so, and she shrieked as he hoisted her higher. "Lower, lower!" she demanded, chortling, and he lowered her enough so his face was right at level with her breasts. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Damn," he muttered, lowering so their faces were equal. She laughed.

"Nice try. But no dirtiness until after the dance." He kissed the bridge of her nose, smiling.

"If I can wait that long."

"You'll just have to bear with me."

"How much longer?"

"Hour and a half," Artie answered. Brittany had her head rested on his shoulder, and both faces were flushed and exhausted. "The dance will cease at midnight."

"Can't wait," Quinn announced. Her head was resting against Matt's neck and she too looked tired. "Psyched for a little booze-like partying."

"Where will we be going?" Rachel asked.

"Riverside," Matt told her. "Dick Hunter's family owns property there, so lesser chance of a police bust, and everyone's invited."

"Sounds exemplary," Rachel exclaimed, smiling widely at Noah. He just raised one eyebrow. "It's one of our PSAT words, you know," she told him with mock annoyance. "Means ideal."

"Thanks. That'll probably come in handy."

***

The rest of the time seemed to fly by. More songs came on, and Rachel danced with more people. Finn, Kurt, Tina and Mercedes rejoined the group and she danced with every one, even to songs she despised (those were with Kurt and Mercedes). Cookies were consumed, and she was even tricked into having another mouth full of the disgusting punch by Finn, which resulted in much arm slugging.

At twelve, the gang moved out and into their separate vehicles. Brittany and Artie teamed up with Mercedes and Tina since Brit was still too dumb to learn how to work the gas pedal, and Quinn and Matt, Finn and Kurt, and Rachel and Noah all went apart as they had come divided too. In the car ride there, Rachel asked Noah a question that had been gnawing at the back of her mind since she and Quinn had started talking.

"Who did you go to Prom with your first two years of school?" Noah raised his eyebrows and laughed, like a '_oh_ ho' kind of laugh. "What?"

"That's something for me to know, and for you to never find out," he told her, casting his eyes from the road for one second to lightly tap his index finger to her nose. She swatted in away and muttered 'keep your eyes on the road', but she was grinning.

"Why is it so awful you can't tell me?"

"It's not awful, just... embarrassing."

"Why? I assume you went out with sexy upper classmen with large breasts and dyed hair with a name like 'Brianna James', and that they were very wealthy and the two of you had sex in the back of her convertible both years." Noah kept his eyes trained on the road. "Really Noah, I'd like to know. If you don't tell me, I'll just find out from Quinn." Noah sighed loudly.

"You know how to get what you want, huh?"

"I'm taking that as a 'Yes Rachel, I'd be positively thrilled to tell you about the skanky seniors I went to prom with before I knew you were my soul mate.'" He shrugged.

"Sure, whatever. Okay, so freshman year... that was Claire Littleton. She was a junior. She had fake boobs, fake lips, and hips the length of Captain Kirk's dick." He glanced over at Rachel, who just made a face.

"I'm assuming Kirk's dick is large in length then?"

"You guess right."

"And you know this how?"

Noah shrugged again. "Everyone knows Kirk has a huge dick. Anyways, she looked pretty hot in this purple dress all super tight—like, I could see her ass crack—"

"_Ugh_, please, Noah! My eyes!"

"I'm not _showing_ you anything—"

"There's this thing called a brain; it makes mental pictures—maybe you should use it when talking about this stuff—"

"Okay, _okay_, I get it."

"I mean, waist width penises and oversized breasts I can deal with, but my God, a woman's-- a woman's—"

"The subject is over, Rachel."

"Good." There was a short pause. "Continue."

"So her dress was tight... super sexy, right? Then in the middle of our second dance, she decided to rip it off." He glanced at Rachel. She could feel her face reddening. "And she was wearing a Britney style see through dress... thing." Instead of nearly vomiting, Rachel found herself bursting into a hysteric fit of laughter. Noah was cynical for a second, but she just kept howling, and soon, the sounds of her wild whoops and random, loud snorts had Noah cracking up too, and they were both still laughing like maniacs when they arrived at the riverside, and it was kind of the best thing ever.


End file.
